My Genetics Exam Thursday went a lot like this:
I stayed up countless nights, countless weekdays, mashed in study time after work, poured over powerpoints and generally worked my Senior butt off, to study for my Genetics Exam.
Thursday I walked in to the lab. I had my pencil, glucometer and snack by my side. I was ready! I was gonna pass! My grade was not going to be shredded by Professor Schroeder.
The tests were distributed. I glanced at the exam and wrote my name on top. Read the first question. Read the second. I chewed my eraser gently. Scratched my head for a second. The clock ticked by. I removed my jacket. Was it hot in here?
I called an answer to mind, chased after the thought for a bit, tried it on for size, and then... my mind let it slip. I tried again. Failed. My thoughts were like wet soap: and the harder I tried to hold on, the faster they slipped out of my grasp.
I knew what was coming. I checked my sugar and it was 60. Ok, not so low, but not high enough that my brain could focus. I could only answer the easy questions, the ones that skimmed the information off the top layer of my memory, not the ones that required me to dig closer down to the bottom. I was frustrated. I literally could not focus, could not think: lows rob you of that ability.
30 minutes passed. The first granola bar had only kept me level at 60; I ate another. I could be mad at the fact that I had had to eat 3 granola bars that afternoon, which for me was too much. I could panic, but instead I told myself, stay calm: this will pass. I knew the answers - my brain simply needed sugar in order to process and retrieve them.
I finally did climb back up the blood sugar ladder, and the answers came, like you begin to feel hot water gradually pouring out from a faucet that starts out all cold.
I wasn't mad, not this time. Just tired of my body, and wanting to pass my genetics exam so that I could go home and relax.
Sometimes in the fight with Diabetes, you simply have to pick your battles.
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